Hello my old friend, do you recognize me?

Khoya, I made millions of euros
So fuck you and your artist life
Yeah, biatch, I don't fuck you through the pussy
I'd rather go through the artist's entrance
And what time left on my skin, reubeu
Here are the damn scars
I don't have time, I'm not in their matrix
You want a feature, I'll send you my K-bis
It feels good, CDC I'll finally be able to deal with their mother
I have too many stacks of hundred-euro bills,
No wonder the coach puts me on the bench
Cover your daughter's ears well,
I told you this is not Team BS
Weird, your bitch is too tactile, she reminds me of my Nintendo DS
Fuck Morpheus' arms, Banlieue Sale we have masseuses
Shoot me in front of the shisha, black guy, and then you'll have a Starbuzz
Tell them to go fuck their mother
We are not at all in the same sphere
I have two or three VHR biatches
I have two or three enemies in DHR
Here it's Ligue 1, Ligue 1, CDC Banlieue Sale it kicks, huh
In the cells of the court,
Do you still find us sympathetic, huh?
But black guy who told you that?
We never dissed you, asshole
We don't shoot at ambulances
Even less at hearses, biatch
I ride quietly in Paris, at this time under Bavaria
The khos dream of Panamera, of Di María's salary
Too many sons of bitches, I see them turning their coats for a few euros
CDC4 in the stores, relax, it's just the intro

They are too scared, I'm coming to take the throne, we know it
I walked in shit, I'm going to walk on the moon
Who are the best, Banlieue Ouest
I can't act like a star, La Fouine comes from the re-squa
Fuck the struggle, I hold rap on a leash
Bois d'Ar', Osny, Fleury, Nanterre
We'll do like your father, we'll fuck your mother
I'm coming in fast, RS4, Spain
Here's my email, here's my, here's my email
Black rims, black leather
Go fuck your mother like

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